


Absolution

by Furuba_Fangirl



Series: The Nice and Accurate Fanfic Gallery [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Bittersweet Ending, Blasphemy, Coming In Pants, Confessional, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Exhibitionism, Inspired by Art, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misuse of said confessional, Mutual Pining, Priest Aziraphale (Good Omens), Religious Guilt, Smut, Thirsty Crowley (Good Omens), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furuba_Fangirl/pseuds/Furuba_Fangirl
Summary: Crowley goes to confess to Father Fell. Unfortunately, they both create a few sins of their own in the process.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Nice and Accurate Fanfic Gallery [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997725
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Usedtobehmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/gifts).



> Inspired by @usedtobehmc’s Aziraphale the Priest AU and her [ naughty confession booth post](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGU50g9hLal/?igshid=18xz7r9uiol00). Definitely not canon to the comic but just a version of events if these two were more sexually frustrated and had less healthy communication skills.
> 
> Fun fact: I started writing this a few months ago and lost steam half-way through! But I still thought it had potential so I figured I’d power through ‘til the end 😅

Crowley pushes past the wooden double doors of the cathedral; a stumble in his step and a fever on his skin. His vision adjusts to the dim ambiance provided by the votive altars and the last beams of twilight pouring through the stained-glass windows. The clicks of his boots echo through the air thick with frankincense before he sprawls onto one of the pews in the back. He blankly observes the few parishioners occupied with their own silent prayers and, secretly, he is envious of them. They are finding peace while his resentment grows in this so-called sanctuary. For him, these high walls serve as a barrier barring him from being with the one he loves— lusts. Whatever.

More than anything, he is _angry_. Angry that he didn’t meet Aziraphale before he committed to the church. Angry at the lingering touches of their hands when they sit too close during lunch or while they watch movies together. Angry at those soft, longing gazes the priest gives him that implicitly say, “I wish I could offer you more...” He is even angry at a God he doesn’t believe in for cruelly keeping someone as wonderful as Aziraphale so close, yet so fucking far. And that anger is slowly girdling him like vines on a tree trunk, threatening to suffocate him. At this point, he’d be willing to cast a few prayers of his own if it meant Aziraphale could be free. If _they_ could be free together.

Unfortunately, the rum and cokes in his system are encouraging him to take more drastic measures. Or, at least, that’s the excuse he’ll have if things go south.

Crowley eyes the confessional on the opposite side of the church; both doors currently locked. He knows Aziraphale is behind one of them, serving as a comforting presence and listening without judgment like he always does. Not because it is his job but because that’s who he is. Since the moment he saw him, Aziraphale was a beacon of kindness and Crowley was the foolish moth prepared to hurtle himself into it and drown in that warm light. He’s wanted nothing more than to take his hand without shame or fear. To hold Aziraphale in his arms and kiss him tenderly. To breathe words of adoration into his ears as they fucked beneath their bedsheets.

Crowley lets out a stifled groan of frustration as those lovely images make his cock twitch in the confines of his jeans and he shifts uncomfortably, feeling like an animal in heat. His train of thought is disrupted by the subtle creak of hinges when an elderly woman emerges from the confessional. The artist’s mouth goes dry as he waits to see if any stragglers go to take their session with Father Fell. However, everyone remains in their place, leaving the door open for him to take his own leap of faith.

Before he can psyche himself out, Crowley saunters toward the confession booth, his rapid pulse roaring in his ears. Inside the threshold of the dimly lit booth, he slides the latch closed with a shaky hand. He glances over his shoulder to find Aziraphale with his head bowed respectfully, waiting for his penitent to make themself comfortable. Despite being shrouded by the screen, Crowley manages to capture his serene expression and lets out a heavy sigh, the bench catching him when his knees finally decide to give out.

There’s a long pause between them, mostly due to the fact Crowley didn’t think he’d make it this far and words are suddenly very difficult. However, the silence is broken when Aziraphale calmly asks, “What seems to be burdening you, my dear?”, still unaware of who is in the adjacent stall. “Please, go at your own pace but rest assured this is a safe space to discuss whatever you’d like.”

Crowley swallows thickly, his throat a vice, but he manages to murmur, “I know, Aziraphale… S’ why I’m here.”

The priest’s eyebrows shoot up in a mixture of shock and pleasant surprise. “Crowley, is that you in there?” He’s about to peer through the screen but he remembers his role in this rite. “I— Dreadfully, sorry, dear. You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“S’ fine and, yeah, it’s me… I, uh, came to confess my sins, or whatever, and I thought who’d better than you to hear me out.”

Aziraphale notices the subtle slur in Crowley’s syllables but regardless he knows that he is serious. “Alright then. I assume this is your first confession?”

“Yep. Does that mean I have to say ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned’?”

The priest titters, “Of course not. It might be a formality for most but... our relationship is well past formal, isn’t it?” He wears a solemn smile as he says this, fully aware of the strong attraction crackling between them like static. He is also painfully aware that he’s powerless to do anything about it.

“It is… So, how exactly should I start then?”

“Just say whatever is on your mind,” he prompts.

Crowley tilts his head back, hands gripping at the edge of the bench, knowing this is the point of no return. The next words he utters can be the start of something beautiful or can oust the delicate friendship they’ve managed to stoke. “I… I have feelings for someone I can’t have, or rather, someone who can’t have me because I’m more than ready to reciprocate.”

Aziraphale’s breathing falters as if the air had been squeezed out of his lungs. He manages to maintain his composure, keeping his gaze straight while he stammers, “I-I see… That… that must be very frustrating for you.”

He sighs, “It is considering he’s the most unfairly _handsome_ person I’ve ever met.” Crowley raises a finger to trace Aziraphale’s features through the lattice partition. “He is beautiful, Father Fell. Inside and out. He has this infectious smile that can light up a room like an angel.” _My Angel._

Aziraphale gulps as he focuses his nervous energy on twiddling his fingers.

“Above all, he’s just _good_ , in every sense of the word. So much so that he always thinks about others before himself, even though sometimes… I wish he wouldn’t spread himself so thin. I wish he realized his needs matter too and that following his heart doesn’t make him selfish…”

Their eyes lock when Aziraphale dares to glance over at him. “Maybe he wishes that too but he knows it’s not that simple,” he mutters.

“It could be… We could make it simple together.” Aziraphale gazes at Crowley’s hand splayed against the screen. “Together?”

“Yeah,” Crowley confirms. “You realize I’m talking about you, right? It’d be pretty awkward if we weren’t on the same page.”

The priest lets out a pitiful laugh, hand reaching out toward Crowley’s. “I suspected as much…” Yet, before he touches the divider, he retracts it to place it on his lap. “Crowley… you’re very special too. You’re witty and creative and even if you don’t think so, you are a nice person. You are the most beautiful man I’ve met… Anyone would be lucky to have you by their side.”

“That’s the thing… I don’t want just anyone by my side. I want you.”

The priest senses the shadow of a sob in the back of his throat but he quickly swallows it down. “You know that’s not possible, dear. I’ve made a commitment— a _vow_ — and I can’t cast that aside because of my personal desires. I know perhaps that might seem unfair but it is something bigger than me. It’s _ineffable_ and… and I am no one to question that.”

“Why are we here, if not to ask questions, Aziraphale?” he asks with the fragility of a prayer. “I know you and I don’t see eye-to-eye in matters of faith but… I’d put all of mine in you, angel.” He reclines against the adjacent wall so Aziraphale can get a better view of him. “I’d worship you every day, Aziraphale. With my hands, my lips... God, the things I’d do to you if you gave me the chance. It’d make every saint in this building blush,” he says, voice heavy with lust. Aziraphale lets out a staggered breath, his own yearning growing at the base of his stomach as he watches the artist idly rub his thighs. A notable bulge forming in the front of those sinfully tight jeans. “Crowley, dear, perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more appropriate.”

“What better place is there than this?” he counters. “Whatever happens here stays between us, right?” He hikes up the hem of his tank top to reveal a strip of decadent skin.

Aziraphale stutters in a panic, “Tha— Technically that may be true but this space isn’t meant for ... personal liaisons.” He watches the artist’s thumb trace the exposed tendrils of tinted ivy on his hip. That beautiful artwork that he entrusted him to admire when they both were so vulnerable with each other. The night he realized he was so desperately in love…

“The way I see it, I’m still confessing, and I would very much like your full attention.”

The priest gasps when Crowley shucks off his shirt completely and lets it fall on the ground. Heat rises to his cheeks at the sight of lean muscles and jutted bones. His eyes linger on the faint happy trail enticingly leading down to the straining fabric and he wants nothing more than to see what lies beneath. Still, he weakly protests, “Crowley, please wait. We can’t... _I_ can’t…”

“You don’t have to do anything. I’ll do all the work,” he says as he props his boot against the partition. Yet, he pauses when he notices the distress weighing on Aziraphale’s face. “...Or you can leave,” he mutters, disappointment constricting his heart. “Hell, I wouldn’t blame you if you did but, fuck, I want you to stay…”

Aziraphale remains silent, enraptured by Crowley’s fingers circling the dip of his navel.

“I want you to see how badly I want you, angel,” he rasps, now teasing the button of his trousers. Still, he waits for Aziraphale to make his next move, half-expecting him to run away. But he doesn’t... The priest stays put; his longing eyes still glued to him. Crowley ultimately breaks their stalemate by unfastening his fly. The sound of the zipper almost unbearably loud in the small confine.

Aziraphale inhales sharply as Crowley shimmies down the fabric so it rests low on his hips. His half-erect cock on display, slender and flushed much like the rest of him. “Oh, dear Lord…” Unconsciously, he shuffles closer to get a better view.

The priest watches in awe as Crowley licks his palm in languid strokes, his mind transported to that day after mass. He recalls the wet glide of that wicked tongue, the faint press of lips against his fingertips, and the mortification he felt undermined by the absolute thrill of someone bestowing that kind of intimacy to him. A memory that pales in comparison once Crowley takes hold of himself, Aziraphale’s own cock flooding with arousal.

The artist lets out a few breathy moans, eyes squeezing shut as he jerks himself off. His saliva and the precome dribbling down his shaft making it easier to set a more desperate pace. “ _Ungh_ , fucking hell…”

Despite his fixation, a nervous sweat drips down the priest’s nape. “Crowley, do keep your voice down,” he pleads in a hushed voice. “The other parishioners, they might hear…” Crowley gnaws at his bottom lip and, oh, does Aziraphale wish it was him nibbling on it instead. 

“S-sorry but I can’t help myself,” he huffs. “You make me lose my damn mind… _Ah,_ and _this…_ ” Crowley runs his thumb over the reddened head. “This is all for you, Father Fell. _Fuck_ , my cock is absolutely throbbing thanks to you. I wish you could feel it for yourself…”

Aziraphale places a hand on the screen, craving to do just that. Although, his other hand is painfully gripping his upper thigh so he can keep some semblance of self-control.

Crowley’s eyes flicker open to find Aziraphale transfixed by him; his lips parted and eyelids heavy. “I know one day you’ll be able to. When not even this flimsy wall or God is enough to separate us,” he babbles. “I’m sure you’d take real good care of me too. _Nngh_ , you’d make me feel so good with those strong hands… Or maybe you’d prefer to use that sweet mouth of yours.”

Aziraphale instinctively licks his lip at the thought. He can imagine his mouth wrapped around that lovely cock, the heady flesh sliding over his tongue as he gagged himself on it until Crowley shot down his throat. It is positively obscene but the priest can’t deny how damp his underwear is or how painfully hard he’s grown. He grinds the heel of his hand against his prick but it only serves to send a jolt of pleasure that makes him hunch over. “ _Ohh_ , Crowley, dear… The things you say,” he whines as he continues to palm at himself through his slacks.

“But that’d be a sight to wonder at, wouldn’t it? You kneeling before me like you would at an altar… As if I was worthy of your devotion…”

Despite the wantonness of his words, Aziraphale notes the self-deprecation in his beloved’s voice. He rests his forehead on the screen, wafer-thin yet so infuriatingly obstructive. “You are worthy, Crowley… Of that and so much more,” he pants. “Please, never doubt that, darling.”

Crowley feels his balls tighten at those soft words and he quickens his strokes. “I won’t, angel. I promise. I— _Mmmmhh_!” His body tenses, heat coursing through his veins as his cock splashes come over his hand. A display of pure ecstasy that is enough to catapult Aziraphale into his own orgasm. His hips bucking weakly against his hand as he makes a mess of his pants with a strangled mewl.

The air in the confessional becomes muggy with their heavy breaths and it clings to their sweaty skin. A film of lust that makes them glow in the unjudging shadows. Once the priest catches his breath, he looks up to find Crowley in a sprawling heap; eyes closed and his softened cock still in his grip. Milky droplets now trickling onto his lower abdomen just begging to be licked off.

When their eyes meet again, Crowley lifts up his soiled fingers and sucks them clean with a satisfied hum. “Hmm, that was nice… I’m starting to understand the appeal of confession. Took a real load off of me,” he says with a tired smirk.

“Yes, I certainly got that impression,” Aziraphale huffs.

The artist pushes back his damp fringe, his euphoria souring into insecurity. “So… Am I forgiven for my transgressions, Father Fell?” The priest leans back against the wall, processing his emotions. He feels uncomfortably hot and sticky and overwhelmed but strangely enough… he doesn’t feel shame. So, who is he to condemn his penitent? “Yes, dear… You are forgiven.”

Crowley lets out a sigh of relief. “Amen…”

Without another word, he tucks himself back into his jeans and throws his shirt on. Just before he exits, Crowley regards his confessor a final time, and as the door closes behind him, he could swear the priest wore a faint smile of contentment…

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more fluffiness and less angst, support the Aziraphale the Priest comic on [ Instagram ](https://www.instagram.com/usedtobehmc/?hl=en) or [ Twitter. ](https://twitter.com/usedtobehmc) It is literally my favorite au and it deserves all the love!


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